Marilyn Monroe and Her Naked Breast

Marilyn Monroe

1977 was the year I graduated BYU and moved to Houston.  A strapping, single, 24 year old chemical engineer.  Ready to conquer the world.

I moved into The Richmond Chase, a brand new complex.  My apartment was an “efficiency” unit on the second floor, overlooking a quadrangle green that was surrounded on all four sides by other pristine buildings just like mine.

On the ground floor of  the apartment at right angles to mine lived a single woman about my same age.  She was cute and possessed all the physical attributes that attract attention from the opposite sex.  Her name was….well….I’ll call her Marilyn….Marilyn Monroe.  Of course, she turned my head.  I went out of my way to run into her.

We chatted.  I quickly realized that this beauty didn’t really attract me beyond her appearance.  Very nice person.  Marilyn just didn’t click with me.  But….it soon became obvious that I clicked with her.  She was now going out of her way to run into me.  Although, I was not interested in a dating relationship, I soon saw an alternative opportunity.

Three years previous, I had returned from 2 years of full time missionary service.   Sharing the gospel and bringing people into the church, are prime directives for LDS members.  During my college years, I had not seen many chances to proselyte.   But now, I was in the real world where 99% of the population was not Mormon.  And here was Marilyn Monroe, a non-member who was excited to hang out.

As a dutiful missionary, I told her about the church.  How could she not be interested?  I called the missionaries.  The lessons began.  Ohhhh, was she ever anxious to have the missionaries….and me….come to her apartment almost every evening.  The lessons were completed in a couple of weeks.  Marilyn’s baptism was put on the calendar.

Over those 2 weeks, my discomfort grew with each discussion.  It was obvious that Miss Monroe’s principle object was not the true church.  She was looking for the true catch.  I tried to explain this to the missionaries.  They were confident that Marilyn was the most golden of golden investigators.  I next spoke with the ward mission leader.  He was equally confident that baptism was unquestionably the proper course.

My dear Marilyn never managed to attend a single Sunday service.  Sheesh, the lessons only took a couple of weeks, giving her little opportunity.

More Than Baptism in the Font

The much anticipated day was here.  I got to the building early to change into my whites.  Marilyn had insisted that I perform the ordinance.  The starting time arrived.  No Monroe.  And then…there she was.  All dolled up and…..drunk!!!  Unsteady on her feet, I rushed to hold her up and sit her down.

The baptism was canceled.  More lessons started immediately.  Marilyn’s date was reset for the following Saturday, the same day as one of the 8 year olds.

Once again, I arrived early and changed into my whites.  With a primary child getting baptized, there was a crowd.  Marilyn showed up sober during the opening song.  I was very relieved.

The program proceeded.  Time for the ordinances.  Marilyn and I were sitting on the front row.   We arose together.  Turned.  Then slowly walked down the  center aisle.  Side by side.  Clothed in the purity of our white baptismal vestments.  A chapel full of people.  The innocent Miss Monroe must have felt like she was about to become the proud Mrs. Young.

We marched out of the chapel.  Down the hall.  Into the baptismal room.  Marilyn and I then parted in order to enter the font from opposing sides.  I descended the stairs into the warm water.  Waded across the font.  Extended my hand to guide my pretty admirer.  Arm to the square, I pronounced the prayer.  Then eased the girl in my arms down under the water and up again.  It was done…..well not quite.  The unexpected climax was about to happen.

It’s tradition to close the doors to the font immediately after the baptism is complete.  This allows the participants to exit in dignity.   Drenched clothing can immodestly cling to and inappropriately highlight certain body parts.

The doors were closed, leaving Marilyn and I in semi-darkness.  Water up to our waists.   Drenched clothes clinging in inviting immodestly.  Alone.  Completely alone.  Just me and Marilyn.  The pretty and petite girl in her wet whites looked up at me with longing eyes. Then, she threw her arms around my neck.  Squeezed us together in a tight embrace and……launched her mouth onto my lips.  Lips, mouth, moisture.  A kiss dripping as much as our dripping apparel.  I had never ever experienced anything like it.  I thought a kiss was just with the lips.  This was a completely full mouth kiss in the midst of the full wetness of the baptismal font.

Frankly, it was a turn-off for me, especially considering where we were.  Double especially, considering that there was a crowd of fellow members just on the other side of the not so soundproof doors.

Late That Night

I can’t remember anything that happened after the kiss….until 10pm that night.  The phone rang.  It was Marilyn.  She seemed troubled and HAD to talk to me.  Would I come down to her apartment?   I knocked.  The door opened.  There she stood in a captivating nightgown.  Marilyn Monroe…in her nighty…in her make up…in her lipstick…in her coiffed hair.  Ten at night and she looked great.  Well guess what.  I was a single man.  I had just baptized her.  I crossed the threshold.

We sat down and she eagerly explained that she wanted to date.  She had been baptized to please me as a possible mate.  Her hopes were high that we would sleep together that very night.  Oh man!  Awkward and sheepish,  I tried to let her down gently.  Soon her cheeks were streaked with tears and mascara.  But, she was about to reveal what she thought was her trump card.

Nightgown-clad-Marilyn reached up and clasped her plunging neckline.  She pulled it down.  Her left breast burst into view.  I was stunned.  Maybe mesmerized.  Never had I seen a naked breast in the flesh.  Now, one was only a few inches away.  I cannot remember what thoughts ran though my young, hormone riddled mind.  Somehow, I managed to tell her to cover up.  Then the real drama began.  Tears.  Sobs.  Finally, threats to commit suicide if I walked out the door.  Why didn’t I love her?  Why wouldn’t I go to bed with her?

I was naive, scared and highly inexperienced.  What to do?  Oh, what to do?

The clock stuck midnight.  The very hour that the Holy Ghost goes to bed.  But, I couldn’t go to bed.  Not here.  Nor could I leave and allow a suicide.  Fortunately, the Holy Ghost stayed up a few minutes past his bedtime.  A simple idea slowly unfolded in my head:  “Call the bishop!”  Yup, he’ll come to my rescue, to Marilyn’s rescue.  He’ll know exactly what to say and do.  We just had to hold on until he got there.

I made the call.  The phone rang several times.  It was late.  Would the bishop answer?  Thank heavens, he finally did.  What a relief.  He listened to my explanation.  Then said, “She’s not going to kill herself.  Go home.”  That was it.  He hung up.

With dread in my head, I headed home.  Slept very poorly.

The next day I saw Marilyn walk across the quad.  Anxiety alleviated.

The beautiful Miss Monroe and I….never…spoke….again.

A Missionary is Born

So, I’ve just described my very first missionary experience as a civilian member.  Over that next 30 years, I was to be called many times into missionary responsibilities.  Two stints as ward mission leader…a total of 6 years.  Bishop…5 years.  High council with the missionary assignment…4 years.  Ward missionary…I can’t remember how long.  Sunday School teacher for the investigator class…you get the point.  Over the years, I’ve Participated in dozens of conversions and baptisms.

And all this…..launched by Marilyn Monroe and her naked breast.  What an eye opening way to begin a proselyting career in “the only true and living church” on the planet.

A Proclamation to the Poor: Feed the church first, even if it means starving your kids.

City Creek MallSaturday, April 1, 2017, I attended the General Conference of the LDS church.  The whole trip was amazing.

I flew from Houston to SLC in a modern comfortable jet.  My accumulated flying miles qualified me for a FREE flight, including a plush seat with extra features and leg room.  A top end SUV was awaiting my arrival to whisk me off to my graciously provided stateroom, where I would be pampered for the next 3 nights.

Saturday morning, I drove a conveniently provided Cadillac to temple square.  Free parking on church property was easy to find.  I strolled through the great and spacious City Creek Mall.  Never have I seen such a well appointed and luxuriant building.  It brought such pride to my heart that this $3 billion sumptuous shopping structure was built and is owned by my church.

Next, I crossed the street to enter the temple grounds.  There stood the ornate and opulent symbol of our religion.  Honor and prestige welled-up again.  The grounds perfectly coiffed.  The flower gardens bursting with amazing and vibrant spring colors.

On to the Conference Center.  Just across the next street.  Oh, what a gorgeous great and spacious building it is.  I’d seen it in pictures, but never in person.  So impressive.  For a moment I was mesmerized by the waterfall flowing from its majestic height.

At last, I entered the celebrated Conference Center doors.  Renowned as “the largest theater-style auditorium ever built.”  Wow!  By size alone, we have beat down every other performance hall in the history of the world.  How can I not glory in the glory of our grandeur?

The carpeting showed no wear.  The walls no stain.  The decor all pretty and properly hung.

With hushed anticipation I crossed the threshold into the actual conference auditorium.  Oh my gosh.  A reverent awe slowly settled over me.  The magnificent organ with its 7,708 golden and gleaming pipes.  The choir seats were filled on one side by women and girls sporting all the pastels of a springtime pallet.  Opposite them, the men, each costumed in debonair dark suits and matching blue ties.

The epicentral focus of the expansive chamber were the imposing & over sized regal-red wing-backed chairs.  Empty now.   Soon to be occupied by the equally regal men of General Authority status.  They enter.  We stand.

The conference convenes.  Sustaining of the officers.  Financial report.  Statistical report.  At last, the business is over and on to the weightier matters…the prophetic words from the occupants of the regal red chairs.

First speaker…Elder Hales.  His appearance frail.  His voice, weak.  Oh man, that message of his was anything but frail and weak.  My day was made by his inspiring words alone.  The essence:  Be a disciple of Christ & follow His teachings and example.  I plan to hang on to Elder Hales message for a lifetime.

The next 2 speakers continued to dispense wise and interesting perspectives on life and the gospel.

Proclamation to the Poor

Elder Cordon then stood to speak.  His native country is Guatemala, the land of my missionary service.  He related a touching tale of tithing from his childhood.  His voice quivered as he delivered his poignant punch line.   My heart quivered, too.  Better said, it quaked.

His whole point boiled down to this, ‘If you are faced with the decision of buying food for your hungry children or giving your money to the church, the correct, righteous and blessed choice is to give it to the church.’


My jaw dropped.  I gasped audibly.  Is this really the crux of his message?  The poor should put the church before their famished family?  It’s better that the poverty stricken should suffer in hunger?  Really?  A starving child is expected to go without so the church gets its money?

I’m sure he’s a good man.  But, he’s also paid a very substantial “modest stipend” to preach this message to the poor and poverty stricken.  The poor who just scrape by.  Hand-to-mouth.  Day-by-day.  They barely make rent on their wretched quarters.  Then they face this choice,  “Do I use what’s left to buy food for my crying children?  Or do I give it to the church for salvation?”  A choice made horrible by the preaching of a rich man.  Insult to injury, this wealthy man is mandated by our church to pay NO tithing on his well endowed ‘modest stipend.’  At the same time, the destitute are demanded of their uttermost farthing, while their children are back at their hovel starving.

Our church teaches that tithing should be paid before any other bill.  Even if we don’t have enough funds for other necessities.  It’s a teaching that I have little real problem with.  I can afford it.  The poverty stricken can’t.

That the poor, the destitute, the impoverished must put the church over their children is a tenet that turns my stomach.  I am making the attempt to follow the teachings and example of Jesus Christ.  I see no spirit of Christ in the poor feeding the church if they can’t afford to feed their children.  Never did He pronounce anything or do anything that would put the needs of the children behind the needs of the church.

Here’s the example that He set:  God, the all powerful creator of this world, chose to be born in a lowly stable.  During His ministry, He had no wealth.  No fancy buildings.  No fine twined linen.  Nowhere to even call his own or a place to lay down his head.

When confronted by a wealthy man, He gave the command to sell all his possessions and give the proceeds to the poor.  What might Jesus say to the wealthy men at the head of the church today?  Go sell the mall and the hunting preserves?  Go sell the luxury apartment projects and high rise condominiums?  Go sell the massive Floridian land tracts?  Go sell it all and give it to the poor?

Certainly he wouldn’t say to the poor, “Suffer your children to be hungry, for my mall is more important.”

Here is what he did say 2,000 years ago to the church leaders of his day:

“Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour widows’ houses.”  -Matt 23:14

Finally, Christ’s classic teaching on how to treat the least in our midst….”For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink.”  This is the lovely and gentle instruction that inspires me.  It’s the essence of who I worship.

Common Consent

Here’s my question:  Should we make this Proclamation to the Poor…pay tithing even though your children are starving?

The apostles say YES.

The members say…..

Oh yeah.  We have no idea.  It has never been put up for a sustaining vote.

The doctrine that the poor pay tithing before they feed their children has never been presented for our vote of approval/disapproval.  That makes it a temporary policy at best or a man-made horror at worst.

Is there another religion on the planet that has such a doctrine?  I have asked several people outside of our church what they thought of this scheme.  Without exception, they were aghast.

What member would be happy to see a child remain in hunger as the church flourishes (or languishes) in embarrassing wealth?  Who would put a gawdy mall over a godly child?  For one…..NOT ME!!!

If you believe in proclaiming to the poor that they feed the church before their children, I respect your right to believe that.

If you believe it’s dead wrong….VOTE your opinion.  Christ has provided a way for corrections to be made in His church.  Don’t stand on the sidelines and let the poor and their children be preached down to.  We should be lifting them up.  Not driving them further into penury.

There are now 380 members openly expressing disapproval.  If you truly disapprove of this Proclamation to the Poor, consider adding your name to the Common Consent Register HERE.

Other Resources

Common Consent Scriptures & Doctrine, click HERE.
Common Consent Register—A Record of Those Who Disapprove, click, HERE.
Letter to My Stake President listing temporary policies of which I disapprove, click HERE.
Do We Love Jesus Enough? click HERE.
The Only True Hope for The Only True Church, click HERE.
If I Don’t Dissent…I Consent, click HERE.